


Please

by Abbie



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternative Universe - No Arrow, Bisexual Male Character, Demisexual Oliver Queen, Dom/sub Undertones, First Time, Fluid Sexuality, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Sub Oliver Queen, oliver emotionally leapfrogs past a sexual identity crisis, tommy is having an existential crisis, words are hard but so is oliver queen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 13:02:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13502126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abbie/pseuds/Abbie
Summary: They could just pretend it never happened. They could never speak of it again, and nothing would have to change. But Oliver would much rather do it again instead.





	Please

**Author's Note:**

> taken from a dialogue prompt by theunamazingauthor on tumblr.

Tommy rolled off the bed like it was on fire. Or maybe like he was.

In an impressive display of athleticism, the motion carried him into a crouch on the floor from which he rose with pants in hand, one leg already shooting into the denim. His hands were visibly shaking yet barely fumbled as he jerked the jeans up around his waist, tugged up the zip, and began threading his belt through the loops.

One eyebrow climbing as he propped his cheek on his fist, Oliver lay naked on his side and narrowed his eyes on the boxer briefs Tommy had forgotten on the floor.

A weird, giddy laugh jittered out of Tommy’s mouth as he turned his back to Oliver and searched for his shirt, one hand scrubbing roughly over his hair. “This never happened. Obviously. Never speak of it again and all, no worries, right?”

Oliver made a face at Tommy’s back, but was then quickly distracted by the sweat-slick path down his spine, leading to the dimples above his ass. “Uh, yes it did. We _just_ did it.”

Tommy turned back towards him, still not looking up from the floor, still shirtless and apparently blind since, from Oliver’s vantage, he appeared to be half standing on it. There was a weird, almost creepy smile stretching over Tommy’s lips—kiss-swollen, red beard-burn around his mouth—more a baring of teeth than anything. “Never. Happened. Nope. It’s cool. It’s all good. It’s all…” he frowned, looked down, lifted his left foot, and bent to snatch up his t-shirt. “Cool.”

Oliver’s head tilted on his knuckles, eyes rolling. “It was, like, five minutes ago.”

He was still semi-hard, even.

Tommy just stood and stared at the shirt in his hand like he had never seen one before. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” His adam’s apple bobbed in his throat, and Oliver’s free hand automatically smoothed over his own, feeling the fresh red hickey Tommy had put there. “We don’t have to talk about it.”

Oliver scoffed. “Not that I’m a huge fan of talking about stuff but I’m kinda still naked and the condoms in the trash are still gooey, so.”

Tommy made a grossed-out face and looked up at Oliver in annoyance, his eyes quickly skittering away again. “Why are you being so chill about this?”

Oliver made a face back at him, making it especially exaggerated because Tommy wasn’t even looking. “Why are you being so not-chill about it?”

Tommy hit his limit like a lit match. He squared his stance and glared at Oliver, eyebrows that familiar flat line and chin tucked in stubborn aggravation.

It made Oliver wanna roll over and beg.

Which was, well.

New.

But he liked it.

“Because, Oliver. This,” he gestured back and forth between them, “is not a thing we _do._ Because we got buzzed and hooked up. You’ve just—you’ve never—you’re not _gay._ ”

Oliver rolled his eyes, waving one hand dismissively. “Neither are you. You’re bi.”

“Yeah,” Tommy barked, as if that somehow clarified his point. “I am.” He stared at Oliver like he was trying to drill a hole in him—if only—or like he was waiting for a bomb to go off. “Are you saying you are too?”

The corners of Oliver’s mouth pulled down in a muppet-like frown, eyes squinting thoughtfully.

Like he couldn’t stand the silence, Tommy blurted, “Because you’ve never been interested in guys before. I am like a rolodex of your sexual history and you’ve never—you’ve _never_ been into other guys before.”

Ah. This one was easy. Oliver shrugged and then flopped onto his back, shamelessly naked, one knee crooking up. He felt a little smug satisfaction when Tommy’s eyes jerked southward and seemed to drag back to his face. “Still not. Just you, I guess.”

Tommy gaped at him. Mouth wide open, chest heaving with deep breaths, his stomach contracting and making his abs stand out, defined.

Oliver wanted to lick him.

Heat contracting in his gut, he dragged his bottom lip through his teeth and asked with a voice dropped down an elevator shaft, “Wanna go again?”

He figured it would be quick work getting Tommy out of his pants again. He hadn’t even buttoned them, his belt just flapping uselessly in the loops. He wondered if Tommy would take them off faster if he said _please._

Tommy sucked in a breath like he was just remembering to breathe. “ _What_?”

Oliver blinked, thinking for a moment he might have said “please” out loud. He dragged his eyes up to Tommy’s face from his fly again and raised his eyebrows, trying to look enticing. Might as well. “Please?”

For a moment, Tommy swayed, eyelids flickering like that _please_ had hit him like a physical blow. Then, shaking his head, he squeezed his eyes shut and drove his fingers into his hair. “Oliver…”

Oliver wasn’t stupid. And while he’d be first to admit he could be incredibly selfish, he was pretty perceptive about the people he gave a damn about. And Tommy was pretty much right at the top of that short list and had been their whole lives.

It wasn’t like he didn’t know why Tommy was three shallow breaths from a panic attack. He wasn’t so dense he couldn’t see Tommy freaking out that the grinding and kissing and orgasms they’d just tipsily enjoyed would ruin their friendship or something stupid like that.

And he wasn’t oblivious to the fact that it probably felt like Oliver had just yanked the rug out from under Tommy, since he had presumably until this incident been exclusively straight.

Oliver just didn’t _care_ about that. About being straight or gay or bi. It didn’t really matter to him that he’d never sucked a dick before Tommy’s or wanted a man to pin him down and make him moan until Tommy did it.

He wanted _Tommy_. That was what Oliver cared about. And he was pretty damn sure Tommy wanted him.

He wasn’t worried about their friendship, either. Nothing—nothing—could ever rock that. If Tommy wanted to fuck again, if Tommy wanted to fuck casually, for fun, if Tommy wanted to call him his boyfriend as well as his best friend, if Tommy _didn’t_ —fine.

Oliver wanted what Tommy wanted.

He just… _wanted Tommy_.

And maybe he should tell Tommy all of that, out loud, before Tommy burst a vessel or fainted or something, but words just got in the way. He’d never been good at them.

Feeling? Feeling was fine, feeling was easy.

 _Talking_ about feeling was fucking torture.

“Tommy,” Oliver prompted softly, trying for patience.

Tommy let his hands slip to the back of his neck and looked up at Oliver from under eyebrows screwed up tight, making him look like the last puppy left in the cardboard box in the rain. “I need you to say something, Oliver. I don’t know what we’re doing. I don’t know what you’re thinking. Nothing like this has happened since we got sloppy drunk in high school and made out and—” Tommy’s eyes blew wide, startled, and he lurched a step forward, hands out in front of him. “God, you were drunk this time, too. Fuck. _Fuck_. Did I take advantage of you?”

Oliver sat up like a shot, face screwing up incredulously. “ _What_? Tommy did you snort something while I wasn’t looking? Are you high? What the fuck?” Tommy clapped a hand over his mouth, dragging it across his jaw as he stared at Oliver like he was a ghost. It was pissing Oliver off. “You did not fucking take advantage of me, Christ. I was _not_ drunk, we both had _a_ beer.”

Tommy looked at him skeptically. “Then I don’t understand.”

Oliver groaned and slapped both hands to his face, dragging the palms over his cheeks and hooking them behind his head. “What’s to understand, Tommy? Jesus. We fucked. It was awesome. I want to do it again. Why does the rest _matter_?”

Tommy squinted at him like he’d lost his mind. “I don’t even know how to answer that, holy shit.” Then, blinking, “I think I’m still stuck on ‘we fucked, it was awesome.’”

Woundedly, Oliver hunched his shoulders and leaned back on his hands, frowning at Tommy. “I mean, it was, wasn’t it?”

Tommy’s eyebrows shot towards his hairline and his eyes glazed over. “Hell yes.”

Oliver perked up, one side of his mouth curling crookedly. “Right?” Biting his lip, he rolled onto his knees and reached out to Tommy, taking a hesitantly lifted hand and reeling Tommy in. His voice roughening in his throat, he rasped, “I liked when you told me what to do. That was new for me. When you pinned my hands and you had this look…” The breath shook as it left him, and he ducked his chin, looking up at Tommy from under his lashes as he jerked Tommy’s belt free again. “I didn’t know you liked that. I didn’t know I did either.”

Tommy’s head shook back and forth slowly, his lips parted and breath panting heavily between them. “Why are you acting like this is so simple?”

Oliver glanced down at his cock, thick and hard against his belly again, and raised an eyebrow at Tommy, smirking. “Looks pretty simple to me.” Tommy snorted, but his mouth curled up at the corners. God, Oliver wanted to bite those lips. “And maybe it _should_ be simple.”

He set one hand on Tommy’s stomach, pulling it down slowly, thrilling in the contraction of muscles under his fingers.

Tommy took hold of his wrists in a firm grip, holding him still.

Oliver wasn’t even a little embarrassed at the soft whine that sounded in his throat.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Tommy exhaled, dropping his forehead against Oliver’s.

“ _Please_ ,” Oliver answered eagerly.

Tommy groaned and nipped at Oliver’s earlobe. “You’re an asshole.”

Oliver traced his mouth along the edge of Tommy’s jaw. “Tell me what you want, Tommy. Do you want me to beg? Want me to say _please_?” His breath shivered out of him as Tommy’s teeth scraped down the side of his neck. “I’ll tell you what I want. I want you. I want you to teach me how to do this so it’s good. _So_ good. I want you to tell me what you want. I want _you_.”

Tommy let go of the hand hooked in his belt loops and slid his palm up Oliver’s throat, lifting Oliver’s jaw to make him look at him.

“What I want, Ollie?”

There was that _look_. That dark heat heavy in Tommy’s eyes, carving his face a little finer, sharpening his edges. It shot thrills of electricity down Oliver’s spine, made his cock twitch and stole his breath.

Tommy’s eyes traveled over Oliver’s face, lingered on his mouth. His lips parted, tongue darting across them even as his eyebrows went tortured. “I want you. I want you to promise you’re not gonna regret this.”

He leaned in, his mouth hovering just over Oliver’s, breath hot and moist, driving Oliver wild. He trembled with the strain of not closing the gap, waiting, _dying_ for Tommy to kiss him.

“I want you like I always want you. Like I’ve always wanted you.” Tommy’s lips brushed Oliver’s with each word, almost a kiss, but not enough. “I want you the same as we’ve always been because I don’t know what life looks like, what _I_ look like without you.”

He kissed Oliver softly—finally, _finally_ —slowly, teasing. Oliver grunted unhappily when he pulled back to look Oliver somberly in the eye.

“I want you to not _leave me_.”

Oliver stared at him, still floored by the raw need and fear in Tommy’s voice, his face, even as Oliver had known it was there under the surface all along.

As much as he wanted Tommy to _give_ him what he wanted, to take what _he_ wanted… Tommy needed something different right then.

And Oliver was so much better at _doing_ than _saying_.

He raised his hand from Tommy’s belt loops and cupped Tommy’s face, leaning forward to slant his mouth hard across Tommy’s. It was a burn of a kiss—searing, scorching, a relentless press of wet heat and the friction of stubble and skin.

He kissed Tommy until Tommy was kissing him, until Tommy was guiding Oliver’s tongue with his. They pulled back to breathe, and Oliver, airlessly, said, “Dumbass. You’re gonna have to do a lot worse than make me come to get rid of me. Kill me, maybe.”

He chuckled, but Tommy bit his bottom lip sharply. “Not funny.”

“Sorry,” Oliver said breezily. “Is it okay, now?”

He tugged at the hand on Tommy’s stomach, but Tommy kept his grip, his expression still hesitant.

Oliver licked his lips. “Come on. This is good. This is… incredible. Can’t we figure out the rest as we go?” He leaned in and licked across Tommy’s lips, teasing. This time, when he tugged, Tommy let Oliver’s hand go.

Oliver dragged his palm down Tommy’s stomach, grinning as he made quick work of his fly and dipping his hand inside. “Just do this now. Please.”

Tommy groaned, his head rolling back and making his neck long, throat exposed. He kept his eyes on Oliver, hooded and dark, and Oliver wanted to sink to the floor and _worship_. He kept his hand moving and dropped his voice lower, quieter, raising his eyebrows. “ _Please_.”

Tommy pulled his lip through his teeth and let his breath go in one long, slow exhale. Then: “Lay down.”

Oliver grinned and leapt to do as he was told, falling onto his back, one leg stretched out and the other bent at the knee. He sucked in a deep breath as Tommy dropped his jeans to the floor and stepped out of them to crawl onto the bed.

Tommy crawled up over Oliver, his legs and arms a cage around him and Oliver marveled silently at how _safe_ and _right_ he felt.

He set his hands palm-up above his head, back arching a little as Tommy dipped his head to press a kiss to his collarbone. “ _Fuck_.”

Tommy chuckled, a little helpless, a little dazed. “That is what you said you wanted.”

Oliver hooked a foot behind Tommy’s knee, hips rising off the bed impatiently. “Yes. Just as long as you don’t tell me it never happened after.”

Because it did happen. And again, and again after that.

And Oliver decided, somewhere in between, he’d like it to go on happening for a long, long time.

Maybe Tommy just needed him to say _please_.

**Author's Note:**

> i have neither explanations nor excuses, please accept my post-midnight word-trash.


End file.
